Chapter Text
The night he was taken away was a night Merlin refused to forget, and one that Arthur did not remember.
As Merlin remembers, it was a rather chilly night after spending time at the tavern with Arthur and his closest knights. Summer was coming to a close, and Arthur had wanted some time away from the throne as his kingly duties were starting to take up more and more of his time. This hadn't been the first time the king had invited his manservant to drink with him, having believed Gaius's piss-poor cover-ups whenever Merlin was off saving the kingdom's hide. However, it was the first time he had offered to pay for Merlin's (and the roundtable knights') drink.
So, the servant obliged. Despite his reputation, Merlin was no drunk and accepted only two drinks. He figured, if anything, Arthur would need him to nurse his hangover the following morning. Besides, unlike the knights, Merlin had not been lulled into a sense of security. Morgana may not have been seen or heard from for three years, but Merlin knew she was still out there. Doing what he could not answer. Arthur was equally as unconvinced as Merlin that she had fallen, regardless of whatever rumors floated around the castle. The difference between them was that Arthur was willing to put on a face of security. Merlin was not. And so Arthur drank, and Merlin made as much merry as he could muster.
The tavern was warm, after all. Stuffy, crowded, and warm in comparison to the brisk wind outside. When it was beginning to get late, Merlin took a moment to step outside for fresh air, laughing at something Gwaine was doing to torment Arthur, who by now had more drink than he did water. He leaned against a pole, closed his eyes, and took in the noise of Camelot, humming with the music spilling from the tavern.
Merlin yelped when a bag was pulled over his face, and grunted when something heavy slammed into his head, knocking him to the ground where he was immediately grappled. His screams were muffled by someone's hands and he heard a whispered spell. Then he was out, his last thought being of Arthur's safety.
When Merlin came to, he could barely see. There was a small window towards the top of the apparent cell room that lead into a dark hall, allowing only for the faintest of torch light to seep in just above his head. He stood with a groan and tried to peer out of it, but found that it sat just out of line of his eyes. Merlin took note of the rest of his cell. The door was unlike any of the cells in Camelot's dungeon. Instead of metal bars, in front of him stood a sheet of pure iron. He could just barely make out runes carved into the metal as well as the stone bricks surrounding the door frame. While he had not the knowledge to read them, thanks to Gaius's teachings, he did recognize them to be druidic in nature.
Magic, then. So Merlin tried his magic, throwing his palm in front of him at the door.
Nothing.
"No!" Merlin's heart dropped, and he tried with his other hand, then both, squinting his eyes. He could feel the warmth reach his eyes, suggesting that he did have his magic, but otherwise it was unreachable. "No, no, no, no...NO!"
The emptiness within his body felt cold. All he could feel was the throbbing on the top of his head where he had been assaulted. Again, in denial, he tried a spell. Nothing. A different spell. Nothing. Frustrated tears sprang to his eyes. He commanded his magic with a louder voice, and screeched as lighting bounced off the door and hit him back against the wall, coursing from the cuffs on his wrist to the collar on his neck and back down to the cuffs on his ankles, leaving his insides fried and in pain. Merlin sank to the floor, stone bricks scratching against his back, and as his strength came back, he observed that he had not hallucinated the cuffs or the collar and a sob escaped him. He pulled at his hair. While he was not chained, the iron rings suppressed him in ways he did not think was possible. They had the same language imprinted on them, and if he were to muster the strength of his magic, he would be electrocuted.
At some point, on shaking legs, he stood again and stared at the door and thought about the circumstances that led him to be in the position he is in. He remembered standing outside, and thinking about how happy and loose Arthur seemed when not weighed down with his crown.
Arthur. Upon remembering his king, Merlin was ignited with a new rage and desperation. Had they captured him too?
"AGH!" Merlin yelled, slamming all of his measly weight against the metal door, which didn't budge and instead pushed him back to the ground. Merlin stood and ran again, and again, the door did not so much as scrape against the stone holding it in place. The third time Merlin ran, he slammed his fists against the cold slab, punching, slapping, hitting, screaming, and kicking. The metallic sounds echoed through his throbbing head and throughout the dank cell. One last kick sent Merlin back to the ground with a howl, as his toe was not at all pleased with the brawl. Merlin cried angrily, rubbing his foot with his now bloodied hands. His knuckles were scraped up, and this nails were torn from scratching. The rest of the night, or as he assumed it was night, Merlin spent pacing. He listened for any sound from the halls. He pulled tightly against the collar and cuffs, and nearly chipped a tooth in an attempt to chew them off. At some point, exhaustion got the better of him and he again found himself on the cold ground, stuffed into one of the corners, opposite the chamber pot he had been left with. Again, he found himself crying, and again he found himself begging for his magic to come up. Again, he drifted off to sleep, thinking about how he was going to get to Arthur and promising the people who put him here that he would shred them if they had touched a hair on the king's golden head.
Merlin did not know that, at this time, Arthur was sleeping his drink off peacefully in his own bed. The sun had risen just over the walls of Camelot, and George was about to knock on his wooden doors in substitution of the missing manservant.